Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “No. Complicated, but not dangerous.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, but it sounded better for him to say that he did. Another thought rumbled through his mind, and he expressed it carefully. “Do you think I might be able to meet my mother?”

  Merlin looked surprised. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. Queen Igraine. She still lives, doesn’t she?”

  “She does, but… she will not want to see you, Arthur. She has no love for you.”

  He didn’t understand, and he shook his head with a bewildered smile. “But I’m her son.”

  “You’re Uther’s son. That changes the complexion of the thing.”

  “Why? Does she really hate him so much?”

  Merlin nodded. “More than I’ve ever seen any woman hate a man.”

  Arthur couldn’t let it go. “But that’s my father, not me. I’m not the same person. When we’re going to Caer Gai, it won’t be that far to go to Aquae Sulis and the convent there. That is where she’s staying, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but I advise against this course of action, Arthur. You will cause yourself nothing but heartache by going there.”

  “But I want to meet her.”

  He sounded like a child even to his own ears, and it vexed him. Merlin went to him and put his hands on his shoulders. “Arthur, I am only telling you this to spare you pain. I know her. I know her feelings about Uther and about you. She was happy to give you up the day that you were born. She never had any motherly feelings toward you.” He smiled gently, trying to soften the blow of the words that he spoke. “Trust me on this, Arthur, and stay away from her, for both your sakes.”

  He looked into Merlin’s ageless face and those bright blue eyes, and finally he nodded. “All right. I’ll leave her be.”

  “Thank you.”

  Arthur pulled away from the druid’s touch, feeling sad and small. “I’ve never really had a mother, Merlin. You have yours still.”

  “I do.”

  “Is it wonderful?”

  The druid hesitated, then admitted, “Having a mother who loves you is the best thing in the world. It’s having a constant, eternal ally. My mother will always be my strongest supporter.”

  Arthur nodded, looking down. He could feel sorrow and a heaping dose of self-pity creeping into his heart, and he shoved it aside. Raising his chin, he said, “I’m happy for you that you’ve had that experience. You deserve to be loved.”

  He could not have predicted Merlin’s reaction. The druid blinked, and for a moment, he looked like he was grieving. The moment passed as quickly as it came, though, and a bland smile replaced the empty sadness he had seen in Merlin’s face.

  “Thank you, Arthur. In time, you will be loved by the entire world.”

  He snorted. “I think that’s hardly possible. The majority of the world will never hear of me, and large portions of the people that do will just want to kill me.”

  “Trust me. I see great things in your future.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  Arthur was unconvinced, but he stopped pursuing the point. “Thank you, Merlin.”

  The druid’s forehead crinkled in his confusion. “For what?”

  “For being my friend.”

  He smiled. “It’s been my pleasure.”

  Brastias came into the room, agitated and distracted by the impending birth of his child. Arthur could hear cries of pain coming from upstairs, and he wondered how women could survive the agony of childbirth and go on to do it again in more or less a year’s time. He suspected that females were the far stronger of the two genders in the ways that truly mattered.

  “What news?” Merlin asked their host.

  “No news yet,” he admitted. “They tell me things, but I frankly don’t understand.”

  Arthur nodded. “I’m sure the midwives have everything in hand.”

  Another cry went up, ripped from Lady Garwen’s throat. Brastias winced in sympathy, his face going pale. He looked at the two of them. “I’m going to the chapel to pray for them. If you would pray with me, I would be grateful.”

  Merlin shook his head. “Any prayers that I said would be unwelcome to the ears of your God. Go without me.”

  Arthur put his hand on Brastias’s bicep and squeezed reassuringly. “I will pray with you.”

  “Thank you,” the knight said, his tone urgent and heartfelt. “It means the world to me.”

  “It’s my pleasure and my honor to pray for your wife and child,” Arthur said, meaning every word. “Come, let’s go light some candles and beseech the Virgin for her intercession.”

  They left together, leaving Merlin alone in the armory, listening to the painful wails of a mother in distress.

  They prayed for over an hour, taking solace in the scent of the incense that still lingered from vespers and in the peaceful repetition of the rosary. Arthur knelt beside Brastias and prayed for the health and safety of Garwen and her baby.

  One of Garwen’s ladies came into the chapel and interrupted them with an apologetic tone. “My lords, excuse me,” she said, bobbing in respect to both of them. “My lady is calling for you, Sir Brastias.”

  He nodded and rose. “Thank you.” He turned to Arthur. “Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course.”

  Arthur stood as Brastias hurried out of the holy space. He watched until the door closed, and then he turned back to face the crucifix above the altar. The sorrowing face of Jesus looked back at him, and he was struck with a feeling of guilt that the Savior, if such He was, had suffered so much pain when Arthur was responsible for it. He wished that he could take the man down from the cross and give him succor, but of course that was impossible. Instead, he sat in the pew and looked up, wrestling with the weight of sin and the meaning of the crucifixion as he had been taught.

  The monk who served in the chapel came shuffling in, a candle snuffer in his hand. He looked surprised to see the young king sitting there. “Oh, pardon me,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt your prayers, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s all right. I think you have more right to be here than I do.”

  “No one has more right than any other,” the monk corrected gently. “We are all sons of the same Father.”

  “My father is dead,” he whispered. He remembered sitting in the chapel at Caer Gai with Sir Ector. His foster father had sung with a great, rich voice, and he had always loved to hear him joining with the choir at Mass.

  The monk nodded, not understanding. “Yes, King Uther. May his soul find peace.”

  “Sir Ector of Caer Gai,” he corrected. “A good man. A Christian man.”

  “Ah. Your foster father, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Quietly, the monk came to sit beside the young king. His scalp, laid bald by his tonsure, gleamed in the candlelight as he took his place. “Would you like to say a prayer for the repose of your late foster father’s soul?”

  Arthur looked down at the black line around his right wrist, and at the golden cuff he wore around his left. Both had been given to him by pagan deities, and both were symbols of a faith that Sir Ector had not shared. Both were reasons why he should not have been in this chapel now.

  “Would you pray for him, brother? Your words will reach God’s ears more directly than mine.”

  The monk shook his head. “God hears all prayers.”

  Arthur thought about the suffering of Lady Garwen, and he said, “I hope He answers some of them, too.”

  Lady Garwen fell silent after hours of struggle, and the sudden quiet was unnerving. Arthur lay in his bed, listening for the sound of a baby’s cries. He heard only footsteps rushing past his room and the whispering of women’s voices. Merlin’s voice responded, murmuring, and Arthur sat up, concerned, remembering what the druid had said about when he got involved in birthing. Something must have gone very wrong, and it concerned the young king.

  He left his bed and wrapped hims
elf in his robe, then padded out into the hallway. Brastias was standing there, leaning on one hand that pressed flat against the wall, holding him up. Arthur rushed to him and put his arms around him, supporting him. The knight turned teary, unfocused eyes to him.

  “Your Majesty,” he said softly. His voice quavered.

  “What’s happening?” Arthur asked.

  Guinevere also emerged from her room, a robe tied shut over her shift. Brastias said, “The babe is caught and my lady is too weak to fight any longer. I am losing them.”

  Arthur looked at his intended, and she set her jaw. “No, you’re not,” the princess said. She shoved her sleeves up her arms and marched into the room where the birthing was taking place.

  “Guinevere,” Arthur began, but she ignored him so he fell silent. He turned to Brastias. “Merlin is with her. He will save her.”

  “I pray to God…” Brastias shook his head and ran a hand over his face, steeling himself. “I will stay here and pray. Join me if you will, but I will not leave.”

  Arthur nodded and left his friend to petition the divine for intercession. He drifted to the door and looked inside, afraid of what he might see but needing to know what was happening all the same. He wanted to help, if he could, but he knew that he was useless in this case.

  Lady Garwen was lying on her back, soaked in sweat that made her hair cling to her pale face. Her shift was pulled up to her shoulders, leaving her lower parts exposed, but Arthur saw nothing but blood. Merlin and Guinevere were kneeling at Lady Garwen’s feet, the princess speaking in a voice so low that Arthur could not make out her words. Merlin had his hand on the lady’s stomach, and together they were working to save the suffering mother’s life.

  He watched as Guinevere, her beautiful face a mask of concentration, reached her hands inside Lady Garwen’s body. He was shocked by what he saw, half horrified and fully fascinated. He had never seen a child born before, and he hoped that Lady Garwen and her child would survive. The grim face that Merlin wore made him fear for her.

  He could not see what his lady and his teacher were doing, but Lady Garwen gave a tiny cry, and then Guinevere sat back, her arms bloody to the elbow. Merlin murmured to Lady Garwen, and he supported her on one arm while she sat up slowly. She could barely move, but Merlin and Guinevere shifted her off of the bed until she was squatting at the side. The midwife moved back in, and then Lady Garwen gave a moan and fluid and blood rushed out of her beleaguered body. She cried out and bore down, and the child slipped out into the world.

  Guinevere held Lady Garwen in her arms while the midwife stood, the baby in her hands. The child’s face was blue, and he was covered with a caul. Arthur reflexively crossed himself at the sight. The midwife pulled the membrane free of the baby’s face and reached past the tiny lips. Something viscous came free with the woman’s fingers, and then the child wailed.

  Arthur turned to Brastias, a smile upon his face, and he saw his friend kneeling, his face filled with fear and hope. Guinevere helped Lady Garwen back into the bed, and the other ladies began bathing her with cool water. The midwife took the child to his mother, and Merlin came out into the hallway.

  “Sir Brastias,” he announced, “you have a son.”

  The knight shot up to his feet. “Can I go in?”

  “Yes.”

  Arthur stepped aside and let Brastias rush into the room to his wife and child. Merlin stood at the young king’s side and smiled in satisfaction. “That was very nearly a tragedy, but the worst was avoided. The baby was breech.” He looked at Arthur. “Your princess helped to save Lady Garwen’s life.”

  He looked into the room at Guinevere, who was looking down at the tiny child with a smile. He felt a rush of affection and pride for her, and when she looked up at him and met his eyes, his chest felt tight, as if his heart had grown too large for it to hold. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “This will be Lionors in a few months’ time,” Merlin said, “though hopefully without the complications.”

  He shook his head. “I hope she lets me be with her when she gives birth. I want to see my child born.”

  “The father waits outside, normally, but if she allows it, I see no reason you should not be at her side.” Merlin turned as Griflet emerged from his room, pale and worried. The druid told him, “Your sister and your nephew live.”

  Griflet sagged against the wall in relief. “Thank God.”

  “Indeed.” The druid nodded. “And thanks to Danu, too.”

  Brastias was sitting beside his lady, kissing her sweat-sheened brow and stroking the wet hair of his son, who was already nursing hungrily. The relief on the knight’s face and his overwhelming love for his wife and child moved Arthur, and he felt his eyes sting with tears.

  “This is a joyous thing,” he said. “A beautiful thing.”

  Guinevere washed her hands and forearms in a basin of water that was standing nearby for the purpose, and when she was clean, she left the little family to their privacy. She walked past Arthur and bumped her shoulder against his as she passed, her fingers briefly touching against his.

  Griflet turned to her and bowed. “Thank you, my lady, for your assistance.”

  She smiled. “It was my pleasure. Your sister is strong. She’ll be all right.” The princess turned and walked away. “I’m going swimming.”

  Merlin closed the door to Lady Garwen’s room and told the two young men, “Let’s give them some time alone, shall we? Back to bed, both of you. Dawn is still hours away.”

  Griflet nodded and looked at Arthur, who awkwardly looked back. Under the druid’s watchful eye, they nodded to one another and returned to their own rooms to try to sleep.

  Morgana sat at the window in her sister’s private rooms in Din Eidyn, watching as her nephews Agravaine and Gaheris struggled with their book work. The man who was teaching them, a bald monk in a dark brown habit, walked slowly between their desks, his beak of a nose sniffing constantly. Apparently, the Lothian autumn did not agree with his Continental sinuses.

  She was supposed to be reading, since Morgause had decided that she, too, would benefit from a little more education. She knew perfectly well how to read, and she had no intention of being turned into a mousy, bookish thing with no fire in her blood. She was certain that was her sister’s goal - to quench her fires and to turn her into so much ash.

  A tickle on the edges of her mind made her shiver, and she could feel her master approaching. She tossed the book from her lap and onto the cushion of the window seat before she raced out into the corridor, her eyes wide, looking for him.

  She saw a glimmer at the end of the hall, just a floating spot that hovered three feet above the ground, turning slowly like a moth caught in a draft. The spot began to grow larger, spinning faster, and then she realized that she was seeing a portal opening on the spot. Her heart pounded with excitement at the nearness of Murduus, and she went down upon her knees to welcome him.

  When he appeared in the portal, he was not alone. Ganile stood before him, limp as a rag doll, her face mottled with bruises and cuts. Murduus had his hand pinching the back of her neck, his long, sharp nails digging into her flesh. Ganile’s leather armor was torn and tattered, and blood streaked the skin that Morgana could see. She looked to be almost dead, and Morgana’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Beloved,” the demon said, greeting the kneeling queen. “I bring you a gift.”

  “Ganile,” she said, whispering. “What has happened to her?”

  He smiled, but there was no warmth or mirth in the expression. It chilled her to the bone. “She has tried to cheat me. She owes me an entire soul, and she comes to me with pieces missing.”

  Morgana held her hands out to her master. “What can I do?”

  “Get the pieces back. They were taken by the one called Merlin. Find a way to force him to release the parts that he has taken. Only when her soul is complete for me to take will I be satisfied.”

  Her hatred for Merlin burned a little hotte
r. “Yes, Master. I will do whatever I can do.”

  Murduus released his hold on Ganile, and the Saxon sorceress fell to the floor like a discarded cloak. “Do not fail me. I am not tolerant of failure.”

  With a puff of sulphur, he was gone. Ganile curled into a ball, moaning softly. Morgana stared at her.

  “Why did Merlin take part of your soul?” she asked.

  There was no answer. Either Ganile was too far gone to reply, or she had nothing to say. Morgana went to her and helped her to her feet, making soothing sounds to her. With an arm around her former lover, she helped Ganile walk to her private rooms.

  Gawain sat at the writing desk, his quill scratching across the vellum that was stretched out in front of him. From his vantage point on his bed in their shared room, Owain watched him, curious and quiet. The weight of the younger boy’s stare was beginning to unnerve him, and he looked over at him in irritation. “What?”

  “What are you writing?” Owain asked.

  “A letter.”

  “To whom?”

  “To my father.”

  Owain laughed. “He won’t read it. You’re a traitor.”

  Gawain frowned and dipped his quill into the ink. “I know that. I still have to try.”

  “Try what? What are you saying?”

  He pressed his lips together. “My letter is my business, and I don’t need to tell you what I’m writing.”

  The younger boy scowled and crossed his arms. “You don’t need to be so mean. I was only asking a question.”

  “You were prying.” He returned to his task, adding the last lines and capping it with his signature. He dusted the ink with powder to let it dry.

  “How are you going to get it to him?” Owain asked.

  “I’m going to send a messenger, of course.”

  “We’re at war with him. He’ll never let a messenger into his castle.”

  Gawain shook his head. “He will if the messenger is under a flag of truce.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t take it to Din Eidyn.”